


salt and the sea

by forgettableusername



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Mark (Harry Potter), Dark Mark Removal (Harry Potter), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgettableusername/pseuds/forgettableusername
Summary: She could feel the rough scales against her tender skin, Hermione’s body spasmed and thrashed as she felt the snake’s fangs break the sensitive flesh of her forearm.The violation stopped. Her scream didn’t.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. Cellophane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing on AO3 and my first time writing again in a few years! I'm super excited to be writing again and would love to hear what anyone thinks.

The burrow had fallen quiet, the kind of quiet reserved only for the night. 

The home had been filled with bursts of life, more so than any other time. It was the day of unwrapping matching sweaters. There were rosy smiles and laughter that swam from their hearts to their bellies. But now, the house was silent, except for hushed whispers from the attic. 

“Percy’s a right prick isn’t he?” Ron asked from his mess of blankets and pillows on the wooden floor. Harry almost nodded in agreement but stopped himself. 

“I think he’s doing what he thinks is right. We all are.” The attic was noiseless once again.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not a prick,” Ron said, shuffling around in obvious discomfort. Harry laughed lightly. ‘It’s true, though. If you’re right and we are all doing what we think is right, then why aren’t we just as bad?”

Harry thought this over for a moment before realizing the answer was painfully obvious. 

“We are, to them. Percy came here with Scrimgeour to convince us to do what he thought was the right thing.”

The boys were almost asleep when Ron spoke once more.

“You think I’m bad to Hermione?”

“What?”

“I mean, that’s why she’s not here tonight. She was more than welcome to stay with us for the holiday... Mum thinks I did something wrong, and that’s why she’s not here. Mum was excited to have another girl in the house. You know, she doesn’t count Fleur.”

Harry said nothing.

/*

The muggle street had fallen quiet, it was always quite noiseless, but with the snow settling among the rooftops and the gardens, all sound was absorbed. 

Her home did not creak with the sound of tired and worn wood. There was no magic fluttering and twitching in every breath. 

The Christmas they shared was filled with love, without a doubt. But it did not blossom the way it did when twins hex each other across the room, or when the boy with the lightning bolt scar laughed with his whole chest, and the only ginger girl would whisper in her ear and make jokes she could not say aloud without becoming the victim of a hex. And, of course, when a certain ginger blushed just right.

She was tucked under her patterned white sheets with her blue comforter still resting at her feet. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as though she had a bad dream. 

Suddenly her eyes flew open. All she felt was panic—pure and utter terror. 

Her pupils blew as though black ink had been pooled into them, like the black letters from every textbook and fable were dancing in her vision. 

She tried to scream, but thick dark smoke burned her throat and tortured her mouth, swirling out from inside of her lungs. Hermione spluttered and coughed. She wanted to think back to all the magic she studied, but she couldn’t move. She was sure she was dying.

Then it began.

Her scream pierced through the quiet. 

If there were the sounds of her parents rushing up the stairs, she couldn’t hear it. If they were throwing their hands against the door, wondering why it was locked, she couldn’t answer. If they screamed her name until it didn’t sound like a word anymore, then she would never know.

Her body contorted against the sheets, her skin craving more warmth than her bed could offer. She was freezing to death. Surely fire would hurt less than the chill to her bone. She could feel the rough scales against her tender skin, Hermione’s body spasmed and thrashed as she felt the snake’s fangs break the sensitive flesh of her forearm. 

The violation stopped. Her scream didn’t. Her whole body ached as she continued to scream. Screaming was easier than breathing and acknowledging she was alive. 

The door split, the handle tumbling from its place and the door swinging open.

Her parents found her with bloodshot eyes and skin so pale it almost looked blue. They wanted to hold her and tell her it would be alright, but it was clear this was something that was out of their reach. Her mother tried to take her daughter's hand in her own, but the only movement Hermione could make was to pull it away. She understood now how delicate butterfly wings must be.

Hermione sobbed. The screams became heavy and uncontrolled breathing.

Her parents slept on her bedroom floor for the remainder of the night, too afraid to leave the side of their only child. Hermione did not sleep at all. She stared down at her arm where the invisible snake had been.

Somehow her parents had missed the scarred skin with a serpent and skull imprinted.

/*

“Do not flinch, my love. Do not move. He will kill you.”

These were the words that echoed in Draco’s head as his body lit on fire. Green flames crackled off of his skin, a human candle. He held his head down, his arms out in front of him. 

He was burning from the inside out. There was no room for thoughts or to register the pain. 

Draco was just a shell. His eyes were glossy and white. His mother wanted to divert her gaze; seeing her only son so empty was more than she could bear. 

The dark water took him in as though he belonged. It drenched his clothes and kissed his pale cheeks. He was sinking fluidly. It was unlike drowning as he accepted it. 

There were times throughout his schooling that he had looked out the tall windows of the Slytherin common room and out in the Black Lake wondered what would happen if he stole some gillywig and allowed himself to fall endlessly into the water. 

He opened his eyes. Whether it was anger or something else buried deep within him, he began to scream. They were violent shouts that caused ripples in the water around him. He thrashed his body around, yelling like a child having a tantrum. He spit and cursed, all muffled by the lake. 

Draco pounded his fists against his head. 

No one could hear as he began to laugh hysterically as he tore his clothes from his body, losing them to the depths of the lake.

He wanted to feel it all, the murky waters, feel it on his skin. Accept that he was dirty and would never be cleaner than he is now. 

Draco began to swim, his thin, light body cutting through effortlessly.

Screams began to pierce through the world he wrapped so meticulously in cellophane. He tried to hold on. This was the place he built, sketched it out with parchment and quills. He spent hours in his family’s library, perched on the window looking out upon the gardens. 

One might think he was simply admiring the rich landscape, but he was building his perfect runaway and had been ever since the ministry captured his father.

“I’m not ready.”

He murmured it to the nothingness, small bubbles leaving from between his lips.

Of course, Draco was not in the Black Lake. How absurd, a Slytherin could catch him, see his naked body out in the water, as well as the fact that he would not risk stealing gillywig from Professor Snape.

“Please.”

Malfoy’s are not supposed to beg or plead.

Draco was back in the dining room staring into gleaming red eyes. Nagini released his arm, sending one last sharp pain up into his shoulder. Her tongue shot out of her mouth, slipping between her long pointy teeth as if to laugh at the fact that the boy could not move or cry. 

“An Occlumens.” The two words echoed around the room.

Draco did not acknowledge the observation. He focused on not letting his mind linger on the pain, simply putting it in a bag with some rocks and tossing it into the Black Lake to rest with his clothing.

“How delightful.” The red eyes blinked in front of him. “Welcome young Malfoy.” The teeth in front of him did not gleam. 

“Thank you, my Lord.”

/*

He looked at the skin where a serpent and skull were imprinted.

Malfoy’s do not cry. They do not cry. He will not cry.


	2. Lovely

The sound of the train hummed steadily while their luggage overhead boomed loudly. It was complete dissonance. 

She wouldn’t look at them. That was the first thing they noticed.

They gave each other a knowing look that read silently in their eyes. Concern.

Ron followed her gaze silently, hoping he would see her staring at something that would explain why she seemed to be so far away. But there was nothing. 

Hermione seemed completely and utterly content on staring out the window.

Harry was less surprised with her staring and was more focused on the fact that she hadn’t immediately reached into her large bookbag that seemed fuller than usual.

The boys looked at each other once more, unsure of how to deal with the situation at hand. Neither boy was particularly good with emotions, specifically Hermiones, but now she showed nothing, and they feared they were walking on thin ice or into a room with no lights on.

Don’t focus on the pain. Remember to inhale, exhale, don’t mess with the loose thread. 

Hermione could not see out the window. It was as though she were stuck behind the glass, stuck inside their compartment, stuck with a festering branding on her arm, no, back to focusing on the window. 

She was itching to dig into her bag and pull out one of the books but worried Ron and Harry would question her newest selections on markings and tattoos.

When too many moments had passed in awkward silence, Ron cleared his throat and parted his lips.

“Are you angry… at me?”

Hermione broke her contact with the window and looked at Ron.

He saw bewilderment in her eyes. Could she truly find the question to be so surprising?

“No?” She said with a tone of confusion. She faced Ron from where he sat across from her. Harry decided to begin fiddling with the arm of the cushioned seats.

“Well, you have barely spoken a word since boarding, and you always want to tell us what you have read now. You didn’t come for the holidays, which I suppose I understand since you have your own family, but we were all under the impression that… you disappointed my mum, she really missed you… Ginny as well, and I think maybe I did too.”

The last part came out in a rush, and Ron instantly regretted letting it slip out of his mouth. He sat back as Hermione visibly paled, her eyes widening slightly. She looked down and decided it was okay to mess with the loose thread.

“We have had… troubles recently, Ron Weas-” 

“Don’t call me that.” Ron bit back, once again regretting how much anger come off his tongue as he said it. Only his mother calls him his full name in anger.

Now, she looked like she might cry. Ron darted his eyes over to Harry, who had now taken off his glasses and was seemingly inspecting them as though they weren’t always on his face.

“I am just feeling unwell.”

At this, Ron rolled his eyes. 

“You’ve never been any good at lying, Hermione, just say you’re ups-”

Hermione had hoped it would not have to get to this point in the conversation, but there was only one way she could shut them down and dismiss them if they called her out on her anxiety.

“I am on my period, Ron.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

Silence.

“Oh. Alright.” Ron looked as though he wished he could slide into the floor, out of the train, and directly onto the tracks.

“Yes, and I get quite queasy easily. This train isn’t helping, and reading with a headache is no good.” She tried to bite back a smile as his reaction showed his discomfort, but her eyes drifted to Harry, his eyes watching her intently.

If he knew she was lying, which she presumed he did, he said nothing more on the matter.

The tension dissipated as the boys chatted about returning to the quidditch pitch, Ron was more excited than Harry. Harry had been discontent with Quidditch ever since Draco had stopped playing. It made him more uneasy about Draco’s whereabouts and wanderings.

The window was becoming quite boring, and the incessant burning in her forearm had settled into a dull pain that sunk straight into the bone. She had grown quite tired of hearing about quidditch and mustered up her Gryffindor courage and reached for a book.

Harry and Ron stared with beady eyes, they tried to be subtle, but Hermione now seemed to be more of herself.  
Hermione was quite startled when Harry shouted excitedly.

“Brilliant Hermione! You researching Malfoy?”

Of course, why hadn’t Hermione just thought to say that? 

“Um, yes. I figured if he had the um, mark, we could pick up on some side effects it may have.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his arms against his knees eagerly. The boy was nearly out of his seat. His new obsession with Malfoy has gotten concerning.

“Side effects? What makes you think he would have side effects?” Harry quirked up an eyebrow and turned his head a bit like a dog. Hermione almost laughed at the resemblance to Sirius but bit back on saying it aloud, salt on a wound never did anyone any good. 

Hermione shuffled. She did not want to say, “Because I’ve experienced them!” Her goal was not to draw attention to the fact she had run her hand through her big curly hair and had clumps of it fall out into her hand. 

It did her no good to mention that she had begun to experience heart palpations and a new experience she deemed as her “internal shakes.” She would look at her hands and see they were completely still, but inside she felt like a wind-up toy with nowhere to go.

She couldn’t say, “I can’t eat without fearing that I won’t be able to keep it down.”

Hermione met Harry’s expectant eyes and wondered if he sensed her hesitation. 

“Well, I would assume it is rather dark magic, and such magic usually leaves a bit of a trace.”

Harry subconsciously brushed his hair back across his forehead, the pads on his finger brushing along his lightning bolt scar. 

“So what have you found so far?” Ron asked as he leaned against the bit of wall close to the window, flinging his legs over Harry. Harry swatted at Ron’s legs, even attempting to shove him off by pushing his shoes, but Ron seemed content with his new position. Harry gave up and looked back at Hermione.

“I learned a bit about communicating through the mark a bit last year with the D.A. coins. I keep on going in circles.” Hermione stumbled on her words a bit. “It must be a variation of the Protean Charm. I had a master coin, though. I don’t know if there is one for the dark mark.”

Harry looked out the window, focused on her words. 

“If it is a variation, it’s likely not in books I have here. I had Madam Pince owl these over break from the library. The initial concepts may be inside of these,” Hermione said, pulling her books closer to her body.

“Right. Toss me a book.” Hermione quirked a brow. The idea of tossing a book nearly broke her heart, but also, Harry never read a book that isn’t required of him.

Ron laughed as he closed his eyes. 

“Please, does that mean I have to read to?” He groaned, a smile still on his face.

“I suppose you don’t have to, but you wouldn’t want to fall behind.”

He sat up quickly, finally lifting his legs off Harry, much to the dark-haired boy’s relief. Ron reached a hand out to Hermione. She beamed back at him in response. 

“I’m afraid there are no picture books here, Ron.” 

Ron made a face in response but accepted the book she handed him. He flung his legs back on top of Harry, who mumbled something grumpily. 

Hermione felt guilty as she picked at her sleeve. Her arm began to burn again. 

She knew the boys would help her. She wanted to tell them what had happened. She needed the help. But she also saw the way Harry followed Malfoy. Harry and Ron were ambitious, and as much as it could give her an answer, she was unwilling to have that determination aimed at her ailment.

The remainder of the train ride went by quicker when the cart was fully occupied with research. The train was beginning to slow, the boys handed Hermione back the books and gathered their luggage.

“Not a whole lot of what I’m sure you already know,” Harry commented as he gripped the handle of his trunk. Ron nodded in agreement.

They began to file out of the compartment, Harry at the lead. Hermione was about to leave when Ron reached for her wrist. 

“Hermione?” Ron questioned as she looked from where he gripped her up to his eyes. She hummed in response, slightly afraid that if she opened her mouth, she might squeal.

“Are you really alright?” His eyes looked kind, and Hermione wanted to tell him. She could have spilled her guts and explained the nightmares of the night a snake coiled around her wrist like a cursed bracelet. There was nothing more that she wanted.

“Really, I’m alright. I missed you too.” She did not mean to say it, but it seemed right to say, and she could tell it comforted him. 

/*  
“Hermione, your hair looks quite… tame. It is rather nice. I did enjoy the wildness of it, though,” Luna spoke as what Hermione assumed was a greeting. 

“Oh, um, thanks, Luna.” 

Luna wandered off to the Ravenclaw table, waving once more as she sat down and joined the nearest conversation.

“Oh, Hermione!” Ginny said with a bit of a hush in her voice. “Did you eat nothing while you were away?” Ginny placed a hand against Hermione’s cheek and brought it to her forehead. 

Hermione let out a forced laugh as they sat down at their spot at the Gryffindor table.

“Harry, Ron, did no one notice how ill Hermione looks? Merlin.” Ron and Harry looked at the other girl and blinked. Nothing was registering in either of their eyes.

“She said she was um,” Ron began, trying to offer an answer, but a blush covered his face. He tried to gesture with his hand waving it in a circle. 

“On my cycle,” Hermione supplied much to Ron’s relief. Ginny did not believe it. She shared a look with Harry, and Hermione did not like that look. They both knew she was lying.

“Right.”

Oh no. Hermione knew she screwed up. She and Ginny always had the same cycle. She internally cringed but said nothing else on the topic, and Ginny did not bring it up again but passed a few more looks to Harry.

Hermione was unsure how much more quidditch talk she could handle, especially now that Harry, Ron, and Ginny had started going. 

The dinner would have passed without an issue, but her arm began to burn. Not a dull pain, but a burn as if someone had lit a match against her skin. It was like standing too close to an open flame. 

“Hermione,” Neville spoke up. “Do you need some water?” 

At this, the two Weasleys and Harry turned to look at her. 

“No. I think I’m just having a hot flash, is all. I’m alright,” she said as she waved away their looks. After a brief moment, Hermione wiped away the beads of sweat building along her hairline with the back of her hand.

Her discomfort was growing as she readjusted in her seat. She readjusted her tie and unbuttoned the top one to release the heat her body felt, but she kept on burning. It was getting aggravating.  
“I’ll be just a moment.”

Hermione walked at about as normal of a pace as she could. The second she left the doors of the great hall, she ran to the nearest bathroom. 

Quickly she rolled her white sleeve up, revealing a festering wound. Hermione could not see the image of a snake underneath her inflamed and irritated skin. Pus oozed from the ink. Hermione wondered if her arm was truly rotting.

“Muffliato,” she whispered.

Secure that no one could hear her, she turned the faucet to the coldest setting.

“Okay, one, two-” she thrust her arm under the cool water and let out a scream that could have shattered every glass in the great hall. Tears leaked from her eyes as she pulled her arm away. She assessed her arm. It looked no different than before she exposed herself to such pain.

“Vulnera Sanentur,” she tried but to no avail. Hermione seemed to be pleading with her wand and arm as she tried several more healing charms. If anything, her arm seemed to be worse.

She gripped the sides of the sink, her hair cascading down to the bowl, teasing the edges. She retched as her body began to shake in anger.

Surely if she looked up, she would see the image of herself lit on fire.

Hermione glanced at her reflection, trails of salty tears sliding down her round cheeks. She could see how red and puffy her face had become, and despite the slight disfiguration, she felt as though she now recognized herself the most in that very moment. 

It was only after sobbing her heart out that she felt back in place.

She collapsed against the marble floor. 

“Breathe, please,” she pleaded as she wrapped her arms around herself.

The bathroom was silent. Hermione carefully stood up. She worried that she had been away too long. 

She stood up on shaky legs, perfected her look, and exited the restroom.

Her feet and the clicking of her shoes against the ground was her only focus on she heard soft labored breathing. She looked up to see dead eyes looking into her own. She shivered, the closest to being cold all day. 

She thought he would spit, mutter out her last name, maybe even mutter a simple mudblood. The longer she looked, the more she realized how haggardly he appeared. The hair his bony hand was pushing back seemed to be thinner, and his face was gaunt and sickly.

He said nothing, simply looked through her as if she wasn’t there, and walked back into the great hall.

She stood astounded outside the doors for a minute more before walking back in.

The chatter quieted for a moment as Hermione sat back down. She was offended, thinking they must have been discussing her.

“Hermio-,” Harry began before Ginny elbowed him gently. “Harry, are you joking?” She muttered back. They did the stare they are seemingly always doing. Ginny broke contact and rolled her eyes. Whatever silent discussion they just had, she lost.

“Did you see Malfoy out in the halls?” Harry’s eyes were wide and beady, like a child in a candy shop as he leaned closer to her direction.

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I mean, I caught a glimpse of him but, not really, no.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

Harry frowned and went back to prodding at his soup.

/*

She knew Ginny wanted to talk to her, so she adamantly avoided her in the common room. The issue was whether she could prevent her from walking into her dorm for a late-night chat.

There were many things Hermione was learning she had to avoid. For one, she could no longer change in front of the other girls at the risk of them catching a glimpse. Showers were an entirely new issue. She had prepared a plan. However, it was easier to think of when she laid in her bedroom than actually executing it at the school.

Hermione had the prefect routes memorized, and although she hated to abuse the knowledge, she deemed it necessary.

When the others had fallen asleep, she crept out of the dorms, careful not to disturb the sleeping portraits. She happened to have her reputation on her side. Even if she were seen, most of the paintings would think she was “simply doing prefect duties.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way into the bathroom. Her arm was now ice cold. She pressed two fingers against the surrounding area. Immediately she pulled away. It was so cold it almost hurt her hand to touch.

Hermione silenced and locked the bathroom as she ran the faucet to the bath. Steam hovered over the water. She stripped down out of her clothes and slipped into the water.

The solace she expected never came. The mark covered in dry blood remained freezing. Hermione shouted in anger.

After washing her body and avoiding the arm that would not clean, she stepped out of the tub. Charming the area as if she had never set foot inside. As quickly as she had come, she had left. 

She hovered around corners, eyes peeled for any prefects ready to deduct points.

When she finally made her way back to the dorms, she once more breathed a sigh of relief. How would she do this more than once a week? This was too dangerous of a game to play.

Silently, she began to make her way to the staircase.

“Hermione.” Panic. Hermione spun around, meeting the concerned face of Ginny Weasley.

Not a word passed between them. She looked to Ginny’s hand, the marauder's map in her clutch.

Ginny looked to where Hermione was staring. “Oh. I thought Harry deserved some sleep tonight… didn’t want him obsessing over Malfoy on his first day back.” The redhead paused. “I wasn’t trying to be nosy. I was just curious. That’s when I saw you.”

“Please tell me what’s going on.” It was a plea. Ginny’s eyes were filled with sincerity. She looked just like Molly.

“Nothing.” It was out of Hermione’s mouth before she could stop it.

She could see Ginny’s heart visibly break. The younger girl nodded and looked down. “Right, okay,” her voice didn’t shake or quiver. She simply walked past Hermione and up the staircase.

Hermione wanted to reach out and apologize. Maybe even explain, but there was nothing she could do.

Her arm gave a sharp pang.

There was nothing she could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I currently do not have a writing schedule and haven't written in nearly five years, so this is truly an experiment of sorts. I'm excited about this story, though! Please leave a comment and let me know how I'm doing!


	3. The Night We Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I should update on Mondays? Is that pretty solid? I sure hope so

Hermione was sure Ginny was avoiding her.

It was apparent the redhead was upset. Ever since their night time meeting, Ginny would not make eye contact with her.

In fact, Ginny would not sit by Hermione during their meals.

Once Hermione tried to call out to Ginny. The younger girl turned around, tying her hair up with a band from her wrist.

“Hi. Could we talk a moment?”

Ginny pursed her lips and tightened her hair securely into place, all while eyeing Hermione. She looked down the nearly empty hall outside of the Gryffindor common room.

“I have quidditch, maybe later.”

But later never came. 

It was lonely at times. The boys cared about her, and she enjoyed them as well, but at the end of the day, Hermione was a girl, and it was incredibly lonely when they went off into their own little world, and she was left behind. 

Harry and Ron whispered to one another, Harry jabbing Ron with his elbow as the ginger tried to suppress a laugh. Hermione was straining to pay attention to the potions lesson, but Slughorn had a way of droning on that caused even the brightest witch of the age to lull. 

She was struggling in the class, which was embarrassing to admit. It did not matter how many books she read or how often she would manage her time just to have a few extra minutes to study. A few days, when the boys had practice, and her dormitory was unbearable, she would meet with Slughorn to get some extra help.

It was of no use.

Hermione’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustion creeping in when suddenly she felt it. A snake ghosted along her spine and rested behind her ear.

“Draco Malfoy.” The voice purred with venom and ice laced inside each syllable. His name sounded like a deep growl filled with anger and resentment. Before Hermione could process where the sound had truly come from, skeletal fingers grasped her ankle and pulled her down to the floor.

She sunk to the wood and drowned.  
Her body lingered in nothingness. The sensation was not unlike being on a broom. She frantically tore around in the vacuum, reaching for nothing and anything at once. The void trapped her inside somewhere that felt so hollow she was sure she could hear her own heart pouring blood into her body. 

Kilometers of darkness surrounded her as far as she could see. She felt small. It was as though she was experiencing her own insignificance. The thought of vomiting came to mind, but she couldn’t move anymore. Fear froze her in place.

Hermione was choking on smoke from her lungs again, remembering the freezing of her bones. 

Then it appeared.

At first, it was far away. She squinted in the darkness, trying to make out the image as he came closer to her. 

“No,” she choked out as she saw its bloody eyes. She had seen it once before, but only in the reflection of her mirror.

The basilisk moved faster, gaining speed as it heard her voice. Hermione wanted to run. She knew she should run, but where to? Where is there to run when there is nothing? 

It widened its mouth, revealing a set of sharp, unforgiving fangs. The snake’s jaw unhinged with its tongue shooting out closer to where Hermione was stuck.

She watched as its mouth closed down on her.

“Young Malfoy.”

She didn’t realize she was screaming, didn’t even process that she was on the floor.

Her hands were cupping her ears in an attempt to cover the sound. When no other words followed the name, she dragged her hands across her face to hide the tears that were rushing from her eyes. 

Nails dug into her cheeks, scraping down them incessantly and hysterically. Her body shook violently as she sobbed heavy breaths.

“Miss Granger?” Professor Slughorn shouted, his voice filled with concern. He slowly moved towards her like he was approaching an unfamiliar creature.

“Miss Granger? What’s happened?”

She did not move. She did not have an answer. Hermione Granger did not have an answer. Her eyes were fixed into the distance and filled with more tears. There was nothing behind her deep brown eyes. They appeared empty. Her pupils were blown, a genuinely horrifying appearance that looked like she was possessed.

The class started at her shaking frame, absolutely bewildered at the sudden outburst.

“Professor,” Harry spluttered out in shock, “I’ll take her to Madam Pomfrey.”

“Yes. That would be most appropriate. Please, go on,” Slughorn said, nodding with distress written all over his face.

When Harry approached Hermione, she flinched, cowering away from his touch, like his skin was poison. He went to offer her a hand, but Hermione wheezed, a strangulated sound leaving her throat.

Harry recoiled his hand, sending a panicked look to Ron. He was pale, appearing more afraid than he had initially been.

“Hermione?” Ron offered delicately.

Her beady eyes looked up at him as he crouched down near her. 

“Let me take you to the hospital wing, yeah?” 

She did not nod, but she also did not shove him away. He carefully wrapped an arm around her, supporting her as he pulled Hermione to her feet. Ron was practically carrying dead weight as Hermione had trouble standing. 

The two of them finally got to the door, and in her daze, Hermione glanced back to the classroom. All eyes lingered on her, but she did not have enough of her senses to even blush in embarrassment for the outburst. 

Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, but she could see in the usually blank and statue-like body, Draco Malfoy was filled with complete and utter horror. His eyes had become so dark and low, but the light was brought to his look with his shock. His face was quite red, blotchy like a sick child, and under his eyes were bruised in a way that no amount of sleep could ever heal.

She did not even think about it when she reached a hand out in his direction. It was a loose gesture that could easily be missed in her drunken like state, but he saw it, and he saw that she saw, like a crack in his armor.

He was still focused on her as the classroom door shut.

Quidditch practice had paid off for Ron as they maneuvered to the hospital wing.

Barely conscious, Hermione was passed off to Madam Pomfrey and then placed in a bed where she finally escaped the bloody basilisk eyes.

Hermione awoke startled, fear coursing through her body. The hospital wing was drenched in darkness, and it frightened her. It felt too similar to the nothingness that trapped her with the basilisk. But she knew she wasn’t alone. She could feel eyes watching her.

Harry or Ron under the invisibility cloak? That would not be an irrational thought, but they would have offered a sincere and concerned greeting by now. It also would not explain how heavy the room feels like the figure was breathing in all the oxygen in the room.

Her arm tugged. It was an instant pull. She knew whoever was watching her in the dark could not see the mark, nevermind grab it, but she could feel the tie as if there was a string between her and her visitor.

The silence drew out longer than she thought it would.

She mustered up her Gryffindor courage, something that seemed to be harder to reach these days.

“Reveal yourself. I know you’re there.” Her voice came out strong and steady. Perhaps that’s the reason she saw narrow fox eyes appear from the shadows. 

He stepped forward. Silver glinted in the hint of moonlight coming in from a nearby window. Had his eyes not appeared larger than when she called out to him, she never would have known the movement occurred. Hermione would have expected his shoes to make a sound against the floor. She almost craved noise inside the silence that seemed so loud.

“I can’t reach my wand. Let me see you.”

It was a test. She already knew it was him from how gracious he moved. He was not robotic, but every step he took was most comparable to dancing. Planned, steady, and elegant. 

He did not raise his wand. He knew she was testing him, and he was not one to play games that he is not in control of. The room had become increasingly cold. They were deadlocked. Neither one wanted to be the first one to break—Hermione, too prideful, him, too cowardice.

The darkness made her uneasy. At the risk of being too vulnerable, she tried honesty.

“Please. I’m afraid.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath. It obviously was not what he expected to hear. His hesitation was apparent, but she could feel him edging closer to giving in to her request. 

For a moment, she thought he would not comply, and she would have to attempt to fall back asleep knowing he was watching her. It would have been odd, but she didn’t feel quite as unsettled as she assumes she should have. 

The tip of his wand lit up. The light was dim, but she could make out his sharp features in the blueish glow. Most people say he looks like his father, but Hermione had seen photographs from the daily prophet. His strong facial structure resembled his mother more, from the stiff jaw to the high round cheeks.

“Why are you afraid?” His voice was quiet but tense, wound with thin thread.

She saw his lips move, but the question did not make sense. He could not have uttered those words.

His visibility must have been better as he saw the confusion written on her face. He bit his lower lip, deciding, once again hesitating. His fear was his personal battle. Every word was calculated. Was he giving too much away in his questioning?

“Are you afraid of the dark, or are you afraid of me?”

Hermione did her best to keep her face emotionless, but it was as if the moment the words left his mouth that the room sparked, and they both knew it.

Her reply came out quick.

“Both.” 

She could picture the blond boy smiling, teeth gleaming, one brow quirked up in amusement while an evil laugh rested in his throat. Instead, she saw nothing on his face. He looked impossibly pale. An emotion nearest conflict rested inside his furrowed brows.

“Why?” His voice tripped, and he realized this, the dim wand light wavering between them.

“The last time I was in the dark, I thought I wouldn’t be able to leave it.” Hermione tried to laugh, play it off as a joke. She thought he would laugh as well. He should be laughing at how ridiculously childish it sounds. He should even snap back into being himself and make fun of her for it. 

He looked disturbed. Empathy that she didn’t know he was capable of appearing in his eyes. He continued to stare at her. His question had two answers.

“I don’t know you.”

He appeared to ponder this, his head tilting a bit before fixing himself. He was uniform, a little toy soldier. 

The blond boy seemed awkward now that he had revealed himself and could not hide back in the shadows. Hermione felt like her tongue was locked behind her teeth. She wanted to ask why he was there, but she couldn’t string the words out.

“I heard it.” It wasn’t entirely what she meant, but whatever distant place he had gone to, he eased out of quickly.

“What?”

Hermione could tell he was gritting his teeth. Her eyes were focused on his, but she knew the question was rushed and panicked.

“Draco Malfoy.”

He shook his head. The motion was automatic, emotion-based, human.

“No, no. That’s not what happened today.”

Hermione blinked several times. How dare he say what did or did not occur in Slughorn’s room as she laid in the hospital wing. Her blood boiled.

“That is what happened today. Thank you very much, Malfoy. I so dearly appreciate the concern, now I would like some sleep if that’s alright with you.”

The tension in the wing crackled to life. She could feel his growing frustration and almost see how he wanted to throw a tantrum like a child and pace around the room. The boy wasn’t a toy soldier at all. He was a wind-up toy trapped between two immovable objects. 

“Let me see it.” His voice was hard and cold. 

Hermione shook her head but quickly stopped. Was he asking to see what she thought he was asking to see? She could not act like she did not have it now or act like she doesn’t know what he is talking about. Had she already given it away? 

His stare had grown more attentive, but Hermione couldn’t make out his intentions.

He was impatient, his grey eyes boring into her warm ones. He narrowed them and frowned harder, sharpening all of his features.

“Granger.” He said with more intensity that one could have easily mistaken for passion.

“Please,” she choked out, shaking her head. A blush coated her cheeks, embarrassed to be pleading with him. What she was even begging for was unknown to even her.

His figure loomed over her as he approached the bed. Timid was not the correct word, but careful was too loving. He was slow as he made his way over to her side. She should have been afraid, but she almost leaned into his presence.

Wand light drew closer, straining her eyes. She turned away. Hermione wanted to see him, but everything was too bright. 

He murmured softly. She looked back over to see he had dimmed it and was staring intently at her once again. He appeared like a wounded animal asking for permission.

It was as though he had sensed her confirmation, even without her being able to verbalize it.

His fingers were cautious not to touch her skin, but Hermione could not help but whimper in pain as he rolled her sleeve up to her arm.

She was met with silence.

Hermione felt exposed. As if the act of revealing her desecrated forearm was too intimate of an action. Her face flushed, a heat growing in her neck. She knew that his eyes were lingering on the rot, and there was no way she could take back letting him see. Unless, of course, she obliviated him, but it almost felt like relief having him know.

They were draped in silence again. She shifted her feet under the blankets. After an eternity, she heard him sigh.

“You’re rejecting the mark.”

Hermione blinked, looking up at him. He bit at his cheek, deep in thought.

“The dark mark isn’t meant to be taken by someone like you,” he said firmly, reaching a hand up and dragging it through his light hair, strands disconnecting from their perfect form and falling down in front of his brows. It was simple yet unsettling to see.

“A mudblood?” Hermione quipped, but the joke fell flat.

Surprisingly, he laughed. It was cool and soft, more like an exhale than the real barking laughter he used to have, but the amusement was there.

“You’re not wrong, but not quite.”

He paused, trying to find the right words.

“To take the mark, you must have devoted yourself to him, and him... you.” The confusion flickered inside the grey of his eyes, but the astonishment was not there. It seemed like he had expected it to be on her arm, but he didn’t know why.

“I didn’t-” 

“I know.”

“Do you know why?”

“No.”

Hermione did not have any more questions, but he looked as though he were waiting for her to ask something else. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back down.

He shifted on his feet and turned away from the bed, pausing as he reached the end of it. 

“You’re barefoot,” Hermione spoke suddenly, shocked more than anything. She almost wanted to laugh, but the sight bewildered her so much she ended up sounding like a small child stating the obvious.

It was the first smile he had shown throughout their conversation. He looked at his feet and then to her eyes. He pressed his long index finger against his lips, his nail grazing the tip of his nose. Of course, every move he makes is planned, shoes cause too much noise, but to walk around Hogwarts barefoot was never a thought that would have crossed her mind.

She could feel the invisible string between them snap as he left, the light going out with him. 

Discomfort overwhelmed her body as new pus leaked from the snake embedded in her arm. She had no time to divert her attention to how empty the hospital wing felt now. The pain fizzling was hard to ignore.

Hermione assumed he wasn’t coming back when it had felt like too much time had passed.

Then the fox eyes reappeared.

His wand brightened, and Hermione’s eyes had to readjust again. When she was able to look up at his face, he seemed nervous, quite hesitant.

“Muffliato,” he whispered into the air. The room paused. Hermione remembered being young and her father rolling up snow and cupping her hands through both of their mittens as they built their snowman. The street was silent as the flakes fell down around them. The snow absorbed all the sound.

She was not horrified that he had cast a silencing spell, keeping their words between them, their own shared secret.

He approached steadily.

“This helps.”

He held up a vial that looked far from trustworthy. There was no label, no ribbon, no words. Just a small brown vial no bigger than her thumb.  
“Close your eyes and think of something pleasant.”

His voice had a bite at the edges, and Hermione wanted to protest that she would not let him use some mysterious concoction on her, but she knew it was better not to resist. There was no one she felt could help her or would considering the problem.

He looked at her expectantly, and she got the feeling that he did not want her watching. Something pleasant, the snow with her father, his red mittens, and hers pink. The moment she turned her head, she realized what he was waiting for her to ask.

Malfoys never offer help. They only take.

Hermione could smell her skin as it sizzled and burned. She choked back her vomit. She cried out, begging him to stop, but he held down her arm and continued to add drops.

Then it ceased as it had never even begun. Hermione looked at her forearm to reveal that the festering was gone. Scabs littered her arms, bits of the tattoo ink was visible, but it looked as though it would heal up fine.

Her eyes shot to his, where he held the empty vial in his hands. 

He grasped it tightly in his palms, and Hermione could tell that he was back to being awkward and looking as though he wanted to sink into the shadows and disappear.

“What is that?” She asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he answered smoothly. “Showed up in my things one day. I was desperate enough to try it on myself.” His face looked suddenly pained at the fact he revealed that he is capable of feeling desperation.

She supposed he would want a thank you, but instead, invasive questions swarmed around in her head.

“Did you reject the mark?”

“No.” His voice dropped. It was icy and challenging—a lie.

Hermione had crossed a line, and it was evident in the way his nails cut into his palm tightly, holding back on emotions.

He stepped back, ready to turn on his heels. Were they not going to discuss this? Was he just leaving after helping her? What danger had she put herself in with him?

“Wait.” Hermione’s voice shook in the open air. He paused. His shoulders were tense as he looked over them and back at her figure lying in bed.  
“I’m afraid of the dark tonight, and I can’t reach my wand.”

He did not understand her request, and she did not either. Hermione expected him to laugh, say, “That’s not my problem,” and stalk out, leaving her in the darkness. Instead, he just looked at her, his eyes looking like behind them, no one was home.

“Only until you’re asleep.”

He reminded her of a winter fox. It was more than the white hair. When she closed her eyes, exhaustion seeping back in and relief from the pain, she could feel him there. Foxes are pack animals. As he stood near her bed, it felt like he was on guard duty, watching out for her. 

It was this thought in her head that she fell asleep to.

“My, Miss Granger! You were in no condition to get up in the night for a lantern! You should have called!” Madam Pomfrey said aghast in the morning as a light flickered on the floor near the end of her bed.

Draco Malfoy had left a lantern. In case she woke up again in the night and was met with darkness.


	4. The Depths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how ridiculously long it took to get this chapter out. I'm a senior with AP's I am struggling in and man! I don't have time! BUT I do have this WHOLE story planned out so it WILL NOT/CAN NOT be abandoned, but I don't think I can have a set schedule at this point in time. I hope y'all can forgive me. Lemme know what you think!

Ginny visited the following afternoon.

Her confidence was shaken, different from the usual vibrance that radiated off of her, muted and stifled. Hermione was looking over one book of many that the boys had brought her early in the morning.

“We can’t hang around all day. McGonagall will wring my neck if I miss,” Ron had begun sheepishly. “Didn’t want you to get too bored though, you hate missing class,” He finished, hoisting up her tote bag with her books on scars and markings.

Harry had been looking at his feet mostly and then inspecting his hands. When Ron tugged on Harry’s sleeve to leave before they were late, Harry stared at Hermione for a beat too long.

She knew what he wanted to ask. Why couldn’t he be the one to help when she collapsed in potions? He had been the one to advance to her first, but she cringed away. It was bothering him. He looked back to Ron’s eyes and said nothing more as they left the hospital wing.

She had been glad he didn’t ask because she didn’t have an answer.

Ginny had the same nervous energy that Harry had. Hermione would have been too focused to realize someone had entered, but the discomfort was intense the moment Ginny step her foot in.

“You didn’t have to visit, Ginny. I leave in a few hours. I will be back by dinner.” 

The redhead did not speak. She just stared harder at Hermione.

Ginny was suddenly unreadable. The years of hiding emotions from older brothers had made her quite good at that. But Hermione always knew when Ginny was holding back tears.

“Ginny? What’s wrong?” Hermione gently closed her book, watching the younger girl closely.

“I forgot to give Harry the map back.”

The wheels spun in Hermione’s head. Slowly turning upon each other, clicking, shuddering, they were slower than usual. What could Ginny have possibly seen that would hurt her? That would make her appear so cold yet shaken up. Oh!

The white fox with narrow eyes appeared from the shadows inside her mind.

Hermione must have gasped or made a movement. Whichever it was, it was the wrong one, and she gave it all away. The moment she realized she could have said she never knew Malfoy had visited her, perhaps come up with a lie, the spoiled rich boy is nothing more than a sleepwalker, something, something else could have been said. 

“What have you gotten yourself into Hermione?” Ginny asked carefully. There was not an ounce of the judgment Hermione had expected.

“I don’t know,” was all Hermione could muster up.

Ginny pushed her hair behind her shoulder as she approached the bed that Hermione was sitting up in. Her strong pale hands fiddled with the metal railing of the footboard.

“Have you told Harry and Ron? They aren’t stupid. Harry’s so focused on Malfoy right now it may take a minute to realize somethings as wrong as it is. But Ron, Ron is catching up. He’s worried Hermione, really worried.” Ginny finally sat down at the foot of the bed, pulling her legs up close to her body as she faced towards Hermione.

“And you know… his thing with Lavender…” Ginny began.

Hermione waved a hand in the air in dismissal. 

“Hush, obviously I have more going on than to think of them together right now,” she laughed but regretted her wording as Ginny’s face fell and filled with concern.

“Could you tell me? Really Hermione. You know I wouldn’t tell a soul,” Ginny’s eyes were pleading but Hermione just shook her head.

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t sure myself, and I don’t want to endanger anyone,” she said simply.

“Endanger me then,” Ginny’s voice was relaxed as she raised her brows and smiled,

“Ginny…” Hermione spoke, shaking her head. She looked down at her hands, ashamed, guilty.

Ginny nodded understandingly and seemed to accept defeat, even if only for the moment.

“Just don’t get yourself killed, I wouldn’t be able to bear it,” she said softly.

Hermione reached for the other girl’s hand and held it in her own. The look on Ginny’s face showed that she appreciated the gesture. The two girls sat together for a while, Ginny explaining the newest drama occurring in her dormitory. Hermione would have much rather had updates on classes, but having had Ginny ignore her for days, she basked in their friendship restrengthening.

/*

“Hermione I heard you had quite a fall, a bad mix of potion ingredients. Tricky subject, hm?” Luna murmured, her voice sounding more like light singing than actual speaking.

“Oh, yes, not sure how I could be so silly,” Hermione spoke, hating to not only admit failure but admitting to a false failure made things worse.

“Happens to the best of us,” Luna added with a kind smile before skipping over to the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione’s eyes darted over to Ginny who was beginning to sit across from her.

“Mix of ingredients?” Hermione rasped out low and quietly as to not let others hear.

“Your nightly visitor came up with the rumor,” Ginny responded. The clinging of plates and silverware was just enough to muffle the sound of her voice.

“What’s it Malfoy said?” Ginny said, turning to Ron who was intent on proving Harry wrong on something Quidditch related.

Ron broke from his conversation with Harry to look at Hermione while he spoke.

“Well, once I got back. Everyone hadn’t moved. They were all afraid to approach your cauldron, the assumption was that wrongly mixed ingredients made you hysterical. Malfoy, prideful as ever was suddenly at your table and confirmed it. Probably just wanted to be the one to announce you did something wrong. Bloody disgusting,” He scrunched up his face in annoyance and stabbed a fork into his plate of food. 

Ron’s face was coated in a thin layer of pink, like mentioning Malfoy made his temperature spike.

“Oh,” Hermione said, trying to calculate in her own head why Malfoy would have taken it upon himself to control the narrative. “Yes. How rude.”

Neville cleared his throat from where he sat, just along the other side of Ron from the left end of the table.

“You are alright though Hermione?” The boy spoke, looking quite bashful in asking. His face looked warm and inviting, as though he was truly caring about her well-being.

“Yes, I think so,” Hermione smiled, giving a sincere smile back to the boy. She thought the conversation would end there as she lifted her spoon to bring the soup up to her mouth.

“Not to overstep, but think you should speak to Professor Slughorn, I heard from Professor Sprout that he is quite shaken up, guilty for putting a student in danger,” Neville tumbled out. At this, Harry looked up, broken away from his thoughts, and stared at Hermione, new thoughts forming in his mind.

“Oh no! Of course, it’s not his fault!” Hermione said, her eyes wide as her hands flew to her mouth in surprise. Neville appeared guilty to have said anything but Hermione was feeling too bad about Professor Slughorn to reassure Neville that she was glad he told her.

Hermione glanced over at the expansive table at the back of the dining hall, only to not see Professor Slughorn in attendance.

“I hope none of you mind, I notice he’s not at the high table. I am going to see him in his classroom. I had no idea he was blaming himself.”

She stood up quickly, pushing her skirt down as she did so.

“Oh Hermione, before you leave, you haven’t seen the map anywhere have you?” Harry was watching her, accusing eyes, but kind words. She felt like she was the prey. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Ginny tense up.

“No. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d lost it,” she lied.

The accusing gaze dropped along with Harry’s head.

“I haven’t a clue where it could be. It’s just another thing that I have left… Yes, so, um, good luck with Slughorn, yeah?” He added, looking back to his food and becoming lost in thought all over again.

Hermione shared a quick glance with Ginny, a silent agreement that the redhead was done with her possession of the map.

“Hermione!” Ron said much too loudly as she began to turn on her heel.

“Would you like me to go with you?” He asked, face blushing red. Hermione didn’t respond right away, she assumed her mouth must have hung open or been agape due to how quickly he responded.

“The last time you were there wasn’t pleasant,” he offered, trying to give an excuse.

“Oh, that’s alright. Really,” Hermione waved off, turning back on her toes and moving as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention to herself.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she exited the doors of the great hall, making her way down several dimly lit hallways. Most students were eating, the castle almost seemed empty. She would have believed she was alone until she saw a fox cut around the corner.

Hermione dropped her mission of seeking out Professor Slughorn as she picked up her pace to catch up to the Slytherin. He began to move quickly as he walked up a flight of stairs, catching her off guard as they began to move. It was as though she were playing a game, like whack-a-mole or something, the way she wanted to catch him, but he was just out of reach.

When she was at the beginning of the same staircase he whipped around suddenly, staring into her eyes as if he were angry that she had caught him. She never saw herself as someone clumsy or particularly loud, however, she should have known he would sense her following his calculated steps.

“Hello,” Hermione murmured more than spoke. She was caught off guard and felt ill-prepared. She wanted to catch him, but it wasn’t as though she knew why.

“Don’t think you can speak to me,” His tone was cold, cut, like a thick slab of marble. Hermione shivered.

“Malfoy,” she tried again, sounding much more confident the second time around.

The taller of the two walked down the steps to meet her on equal ground, however, he still managed to hover over her. Hermione tilted her head up, refusing to feel like she was the one who had been caught.

“Say my name again, just like that with that filthy mudblood mouth of yours.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, hating the word he used and fearing the way she liked how close to her face he got when he spoke.

“You don’t talk to her like that!” Came a shout from a set of stairs just beginning to connect to theirs. Fiery hair almost seemed out of place against the darkness of the castle.

“I think I just did,” The Slytherin spat as he brushed past Hermione as though she wasn’t there and began to stalk back up to his still unknown destination.

“Bastard! Run from fights just like your father!” 

“Ron!” Hermione shouted in disbelief as her stomach dropped, eyes darting to the blond boy, ready to see him barreling back down to put up a fight. He paused for a moment before trudging upwards.

“He should’ve beat me for that. Why didn’t he?” Ron questioned.

“Ron! Leave it be, go back to the Great Hall! I said I could go alone!” Hermione insisted angrily as he met her on the stairs.

“Good thing I was here cause a twat like Malfoy is creeping around the corners of the school. Hermione, what are you even doing in this part of the castle?”

“Ron, go,” Hermione said sternly. “I mean it, leave.”

The boy looked hurt, he opened his mouth as though to fight back but shook his head and muttered to himself as he descended back down, leaving Hermione alone. She wondered how far the blond boy had gotten as she began running up the staircase, hoping to still get ahold of him.  
When she turned around a corner she was sure he turned down, she was shocked to see him leaning against a brick-lined wall, waiting for her.

“What is your problem?” Hermione huffed. It wasn’t what she meant, but he seemed amused as he raised a dark eyebrow at her.

“Why are you being like this now?” She said, rephrasing.

“Like what?’ He drawled tilting his head back against the wall. His full neck on display. Hermione gulped.

“You’re not being you,” she said angrily.

“Not being me?” Draco laughed looking into her face. He paused, thinking. “Calling you what you are, a filthy fucking mudblood, isn’t me?” he said looking as though he won. “Leave a lantern in a room and suddenly she knows me,” he laughed from his chest like he really thought his words were funny.

“I let you know me,” Hermione fought, bringing her thin fingers to her arm, hovering above the tainted inked skin.

His eyes went dark.

“I don’t know you,” he practically growled.

“Then get to know me, please.” She didn’t want to beg or plead with him, but she couldn’t choke the words back.

His eyes went back to their glossy grey, a bit of blue blossomed from his pupils. He smiled and leaned forward. Hermione all but stumbled backward, had she not, she feared she too would have gotten close to him.

“She says please, hm?”

That’s when she saw it, how artificial the gloss coating his eyes were. The way the light blue pulsed. The grey was fighting, she was horrified as she took a step closer.

“What are you doing?” He gasped suddenly stepping backward, stumbling, and having to balance himself against the wall with his hand.

Hermione’s eyes were fixated on his, which had now delved back down into a dark murky color.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” She said, still inching closer to him.

She reached out a hand, slowly moving towards his face. He looked terrified, watching her hand like one watches a weapon in a duel.

“Are you?” Hermione couldn’t quite place what he was doing, her mind was tearing through textbook pages. That’s it, the same look Harry would get.

“Malfoy, are you occluding?”

The light went out of his eyes. 

“I’ll have to teach you. Makes life a lot easier,” he spoke, his tone wasn’t as taunting, less of an edge and a bite. A tone Harry also used, scared little boy.

“That’s dangerous. Surely you know that-” Hermione stammered, shocked at the recklessness of his actions.

“Surely, I do,” he quipped, his eyes twitching back. It was eerie to watch, his dark eyes changed his whole face, but then they lit up and there he was again.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione began but Draco cut her off.

“How rare, Granger admits she doesn’t understand,” he eased away from the wall and paced the corridor, walking back and forth.

“Where do you go?” She asked, the curiosity getting the better of her.

“The black lake,” he drawled.

He reapproached the girl, leaning closer to her ear, her fuzzy hair brushing against his nose.

“I swim naked.”

Hermione would have laughed if it weren’t for the hint of vulnerability underneath the allure of his words

Then there they were, deep, dark eyes, a tired face, the cry for help.

“As I said, I’ll have to teach you,” his voice deadpanned.

“Which ones are your real eyes?” Hermione asked instantly feeling like it was too intimate of a question. She was proved right as they went back to the color she had always grown up seeing.

“Grey-blue eyes are a sign of purity, clean blood, pureblood,” Draco said, watching Hermione carefully. She had assumed that was his answer until he cleared his throat.  
“Imagine Mummy and Daddy’s surprise when their only son had dark eyes tainting the houses and all those that came before me,” his voice became monotone as though these were words that he had been told before.

“Are you always occluding then?” Hermione asked.

“Well, it sure does make this chat easier,” he laughed turning back to his pacing.

“This chat? Not the other night too?” She hadn’t meant to sound hopeful.

“Now why do you sound like a happy pygmy?”

She looked at the floor digging the front of her shoes into the ground beneath her. Honesty seemed to work best with him.

“It’s not unpleasant that the other night really was you.”

He paused with his back faced away from her.

“What’s to say this isn’t really me?”

Hermione was at a loss for words, gently chewing at her lower lip. She supposed that living always partially in your own headspace could distort which version feels like the real one.

“Well, I would just love to stay and chat and have those eyes on me like that, but I must be going,” He spoke suddenly, clasping his hands together. 

“Where?” 

“So many questions? Haven’t you had your fill! Are you going to follow me, Granger? What will your pet ginger say?” He teased already stalking down the hall.

“Ron is not-” She called after.

“No no, the girl.” He called back, smirking as she once again appeared caught.

“How did you-” But it was obvious the boy was done with questions for the night, he waved a hand in the air.

“I keep tabs,” he shouted.

“You keep tabs. Right, on the Weasleys?” Hermione’s voice could barely hold up with the yelling.

“No, just you. Now I must be going,” He sighed loudly and dramatically like a child.  
Hermione began to follow after him but his voice cut into the air.

“Don’t follow me. I will not bring you along unless I get to call you my pet!” 

She was glad he couldn’t see her face as her cheeks went red at the idea of being addressed by him with that name.

“Can we help each other?” She asked out loud knowing he was just around the corner.

“You know how to find me.”

Her mark sizzled and sparked, fear welling up inside her at the feeling.

“Wait!” She shouted once more, but she knew. He was already gone.


End file.
